


Tests Passed & Failed

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Peter Parker, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, Hurt Peter Parker, LOTS OF SPOILERS, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Stream of Consciousness, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Virgin Peter Parker, and it really kinda is but oh well, but not flat out noncon, even if its wrong, messy dubcon blowjobs, rewriting of some movie events, spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter hasn't had life give him such an obvious answer in a while. Liz left, and Tony trusts him.that's all there is to it.





	Tests Passed & Failed

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Tests Passed & Failed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11791488) by [Elizabethbitchprbbly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabethbitchprbbly/pseuds/Elizabethbitchprbbly)



> hi im garbage and trash. this is all i will do for these 2 probably so i'm sorry its shitty.
> 
> also bi!peter for life. thanks.

It isn’t until he's inside the mansion and halfway down the hall towards what appears to be a wet bar that Peter considers, maybe being summoned to see Mister Stark at ten in the evening on a Saturday night wasn’t just for training or a lecture about hacking the suit.

Maybe it was just another test.

When Tony steps out to greet him, cheery and blasé, holding a half empty glass of something, Peter has to bite his tongue to keep from asking. He's given his own glass and told to pick whatever he wants. He goes for a beer, the fancy one with the italian ladies name. His head gets heavy and fuzzy and he wonders if this is what supposedly everyone at those parties makes a big deal out of. Mister Stark blinks over at him and pats the couch beside him.

“I was just kidding about the hug thing. You can get a little closer.”

Peter’s hands shake and he's sweaty under his shirt. He's feeling hopelessly underdressed next to the billionaire and he suspects he always will. Unless, not while dressed at all. Tony downs his drink and Peter hastens to copy him, wincing at the burn, before additional warmth sears through him, a hand on his knee.

“You're really something else, kid. You know that?”

His hand squeezes and Peter blinks down at it, suddenly imagining what it might feel like it he shifted up higher and cupped over his crotch.

Oh.

That’s bad. Now he's hard and Mister Stark is _right there._

“Th-thank you mister stark.”

“Oh C’mon now. You can call me Tony when we're alone. I insist.”

Peter finally puts to words what he’s been wondering all night, seconds before he lets himself look away from the blue tint of Mister Stark’s glasses and down toward his lips, that’s dangerous territory.

“Is this a test, Mister Stark?”

 

“It could be. Do you want to pass it with flying colors?”

Peter nods before he can think better of it, and something about Tony’s smile bites,

“Then go ahead, show me what you're made of. I can see your abs through your raggedy tee shirt. Why don’t you get rid of it?”

Peter’s stripped in abandoned alleyways and in front of his best friend and his aunt, but never with such an intimidating audience. He wants to be confident and cool and calm, but his hair falls in his face and his breathing hitches when he's manhandled onto Tony’s lap and braced down over broad thighs and a certain something he can feel between his legs. Oh. Oh god. Mister Stark is hard too.

He wrestles away the shirt and is freed at last to stare down at the man, blinking awkwardly and feeling dazed. He runs a hand through his messy hair and smiles nervously.

“Like this?”

“Perfect.”

Tony eyes him for a good long moment before there's a hand at the back of his neck, dragging him down hurriedly for a frantic kiss, bitter and sharp, whiskey and beer mingling in their mouths. All it does is make Peter squirm and wish he could beg for more. But this man is his hero, his mentor, his _everything_ , how can he ask him to possibly consider someone as young and inexperienced as he is?

“Kid, you’re going to make a fool out of me if you don’t get on your knees right now.”

Peter blinks, and slides out of Tony’s lap in a heartbeat, his own thundering in his ears, as his hands fumble over the nice fabric of his suit pants, starched, crisp, and tented obscenely.

“Mist-Tony, you want me to jerk you off or blow you?”

He’s got _no fucking idea_ what he’s doing but he wants to, oh so very badly. His mouth is actually watering, while seconds ago it was bone dry.

Tony’s swallowing thickly and nodding, one hand on the back of his neck still and the other carding through his hair, guiding him down to kiss the seam of the zipper before he’s even got his eyes on the prize. Peter tries not to ogle it for too long before just leaning down and putting it in his mouth, wincing slightly at the taste. It’s not worse than beer and it’s not too thick that it makes his jaw ache yet, like he’s heard some girls gossip about. Or the dicks in porn he’s watched. Not that he’s watched much porn where girls are giving head. He prefers things with older guys and younger girls or sometimes if he can find the right gay porn clip he’ll stick with that and pretend it’s someone else entirely.

Peter’s gulping down excess saliva, and trying to give the underside a hard lick, while taking Tony’s cock in as deep as he can without choking. It’s rough going. Peter’s blinking back tears before he realizes it, and all he can think is how he’s going to ruin Tony’s pants with his pathetic crying and sensitive gag reflex if he isn’t careful.

The last time he cried in front of Tony was when he fucked up the worst.

 

*

 

Unconsciousness and pre-entombed in his parachute, that was how Mister Stark found Peter the first time, and he woke up to cough out excess water and ignore how his lungs burned while being chastised for stupidly going after some wannabe arms dealer.

“Why would you do such-”

Peter stopped listening when he realized it was Mister Stark, out of his suit, dripping wet and leaning over him, frowning down at him.

“Did you-?”

It was too ridiculous, too insane, Mister Stark wouldn’t have done CPR, not when he had like… things in his suit to bring someone back to-

“Are you listening to a word I am saying? No. The glazed look in your eye says no.”

“Sorry Mister Stark, I promise I’m listening.”

The glare he gets for that is a thing of beauty and for some reason, he starts feeling hot under the collar. Until he realizes its the suit, warming and drying him so he doesn’t have to go home to May and explain what the fuck happened.

Mister Stark says as much, and Peter tries to nod, and look sorrowful.

He’s just a little too giddy that the man actually came to save his life.

Or his sorry ass, as Mister Stark says.

“Now get out of here. You just failed test number one. Write that down somewhere when you get home.”

 

*

 

He cries in front of Mister Stark after the ferry disaster, and it’s the worst he’s ever felt in his life. Flinging himself off the building would hurt less than this, he thinks. Telling May he’s lost the internship is only half the truth, and he knows it.

The way the man looked at him, and refused to listen to him just grates at him so much he doesn’t even want to get up and go to school in the morning, but he does.

Then its homecoming and he’s learning a huge piece of the puzzle he’s been missing is standing right in front of him, Mister Toomes is calling Liz beautiful and telling Peter that he’s answered all the right questions.

When does this nightmare end?

 

When his nose is bleeding and every bit of him hurts, it’s not a mild concussion, he feels like he’s dying and he can’t ask anyone for help. He only has himself. So he tries, and strains, and does his best, he wants to make Mister Stark proud, and that means _not_ dying under a pile of rubble doing what the man said not to do. He gets up, and gets free, and goes after that motherfucking son of a bitch who happens to be Liz’s father.

Going up against the dude is worse than he ever imagined. He almost dies about a dozen times, and in the end, again when he knows he could save Mister Toomes.

He won’t be responsible for a death he could have prevented. Mister Stark taught him better.

He _is_ better.

He gets the suit back and passes the next test.

Five weeks later he gets the call, the text rather, and he’s ashamed at how fast he jumps to go see Mister Stark in the new Avengers headquarters again.

 

*

 

“Don’t cry baby. You’re too sexy when you’re crying. I can’t-fuck. Goddamnit.”

Peter barely blinks and there’s salty slime in the back of his throat, making him cough, his eyes sting and his hand goes tight on Tony’s thigh. He hisses under his breath, broken on a moan, and Peter knows. He just made Tony come.

“Sorry. I should have warned you. What I like. That is.”

Peter pulls off and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, swallowing repeatedly to get rid of the gross taste in his mouth.

“S’okay.”

“No, no it’s fucking not. You know how many times I imagined this? Going better? A shit ton. Get back up here.”

Peter climbs up and sits back down in the man’s lap, his own cock _aching_ against the seam of his jeans and he doesn’t know how he hasn’t shot off yet, usually he doesn’t even need to touch himself very long, just thinks of Tony doing, well, anything to him, and he’s gone.

Instead, Tony’s hand grinds over his crotch and he _does_ come once, shaking apart and shuddering while the man kisses into his neck, and doesn’t _stop_ touching him, once he gets his jeans undone, and he touches over his cock, skin to skin. Peter whimpers and tries to shrink back, away, beg him to stop without so many words, but they’re moving, shifting so that he’s being pinned onto the couch, and Tony’s rutting between his legs, grinding their cocks together. He’s so heavy but this is all Peter’s ever wanted, he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

 _‘No’_ is replaced by “Please!” and the next second he’s coming, vibrating to pieces, his cock is dry, rubbing into Tony’s palm, helped only by a bit of wetness that’s pre come or leftover spit on _his_ cock.

“Baby, baby, christ you’re trembling. Do you want me to fuck you? I could. If you want.”

Peter knows that he couldn’t handle saying ‘ _no_ ’ to that, what if he never gets this chance again? What if, sober Tony decides this was all a mistake, and Peter only ever got a handjob out of the deal?

“Okay.”

His voice sounds wrecked even to him, and Tony chuckles against his neck, nipping the skin before pulling up and away, strong arms under his bare back.

“Let’s go baby, let’s go.”

Flat on his back, on Tony Stark’s bed, everything is different and the same, and Peter’s being helped out of his pants and boxers in a heartbeat, leaving him in his dumb socks which may or may not have Cap’s shield on them. Tony’s mumbling under his breath about something with computer jargon in it, and then grabbing two things from his bedside drawer that make his heart skip a beat.

Condom. Lube.

Oh. Shit. This is happening.

Peter’s head pounds as his cock fills back and throbs on his stomach, drooling onto his skin, before Tony’s on top of him, kissing him, distracting him while he nudges his legs open.

Tony’s fingers are thick, cool with lube and slippery against his ass which even _he_ hasn’t played with much.

Peter’s jaw drops and his back arches at the first press of a fingertip, and Tony chuckles again, low and dirty.

“Good boy. Look at you. So pink and wet and _fucking_ tight.”

Well, yeah, he’s fifteen. He’s never been kissed or touched by anyone. It’s not something freshmen have to worry about usually. He doesn’t need game or notches on his bedpost till he’s seventeen and about to _need_ to be impressive.

But now? Now he can say Tony fucking Stark accepted his virginity with open arms and only a bit hazy eyes.

“Baby, fuck, can you take three?”

He doesn’t know when one became two, but Peter’s squirming down and fucking against the ones inside him, his cock pulsing wetly on him, maybe he came, maybe he’s just delirious.

“Yes, please, please, please.”

“I’m sure you’re fine but I don’t want things to be awkward tomorrow so I’m using this okay?”

Peter shakes his head, he doesn’t care, he wants Tony inside him _yesterday._ He’s been dreaming of this moment for months.

“Fuck. God. _Peter_ …”

His name sounds like a prayer, maybe it is.

He grunts but it’s more like a squeak to his ears, and he closes his eyes, hoping Tony doesn’t see how desperate he is, how agonizing it feels. He wanted this, he wants this, he loves Tony Stark.

But god.

It hurts.

Tony’s going as slow as he can, under the circumstances, it’s good that Peter blew him first, gave him a chance to cool off, because now he isn’t about to go off at the slightest touch, or the tight hold of his ass. Peter’s rambling and pleading and begging and the hand that strokes over his cock isn’t enough of a distraction from how Tony’s ruthless now, pounding into him like he _wants_ to break him.

“Are you good?”

It’s usually never like this, hissing in his ear, lips grazing his jaw, and Peter lies, he nods and he fights off the tears that want to force their way out, like Tony’s dick is forcing all the way inside him. Until.

Until something is hit, brushed over, and Peter’s coming like a faucet, like he didn’t know he could. The pain’s being washed away by something else entirely.

“Oh fuck. That feels amazing. Do that again.”

“Please?”

Tony grins against his skin like he’s never heard Peter swear, and maybe he hasn’t. But this? Oh god this is amazing.

Tony pumps steadily in and out and every damn time it’s like an electric jolt to his cock.

Now Peter wants to cry from how _good_ it feels, bone meltingly so, and he does, he puts his arms around Tony’s neck and shoulders and hugs him close, as he finally feels the man come, stilling only to bury himself as deep as he can. Peter twitches under him and cries out when another wave steals over him, and Tony _bites_ down on his shoulder.

“Fucking hell. You’re gonna kill me kid.”

He pulls out, and rolls over onto his back, breathing hard, and Peter forces his eyes open, so he can stare, memorize every inch of Tony Stark like this, fucked out, sweaty and with every nerve singing from pleasure.

The scar on his chest is jarring up close, but Peter can’t resist leaning in to kiss it, the pucker marks and pink line almost beautiful, in a way.

“Tony, is this okay?”

“What?”

“Me, touching you?”

He’s a disgusting mess of lube between his legs and come on his chest, but it doesn’t seem to matter, when Tony looks over at him and focuses, truly, those brown eyes flicker to his lips and back up before he speaks.

“You can touch me all you want, long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Peter’s nodding before he realizes why.

The how.

The wrong of what just happened.

No amount of beer can excuse it really. It’s just between them. A secret. Just like the internship. He can manage. He will.

Peter smiles.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> fucking guess who its not that hard >.<


End file.
